


Do You Want Fries With That?

by jellybeantarot



Series: The Fast Food Restaurant AU [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Lovers, Fast Food, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, French Fries, Harry Potter is Wendy, Harry is disappointed, Himbo Tom Riddle, I Don't Even Know, I have no idea, I'm Sorry, M/M, McDonald's, Rapper!Tom Riddle, Strangers to Lovers, This Is STUPID, Tom Riddle is Ronald McDonald, Tom Riddle is a Himbo, Tom is a dumbass, Wendy's, Why Did I Write This?, but also a genius, kind of, thicc!harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeantarot/pseuds/jellybeantarot
Summary: Harry really needed some money, Dumbledore needed someone to dress up as Wendy, and Tom was the only one with the desperation to be Ronald McDonald.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: The Fast Food Restaurant AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179689
Comments: 48
Kudos: 91





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duplicity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/gifts).



> in honor of wendy’s establishments opening in the uk, here is: Do You Want Fries With That? i apologize in advance.
> 
> gifting to duplicity because i read and ADORED her 'retail hell' series, and my nightmare brain thought up this mess.
> 
> edit 3/7/21: the sequel is now up!

“Absolutely not,” Harry exclaimed, pushing the costume back into the hands of his manager, Albus Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore sighed. “None of us wanted this for you, least of all me. But, Ginny quit. We’ve run out of Weasley’s, Harry. It’s your time. It’s your turn. Please put on the outfit and get outside.” He thrust the bag back into the arms of a sputtering Harry. 

“It’s a bloody dress, Albus! I have black hair! And did I mention, it’s a dress? I don’t mind challenging gender stereotypes and the association of certain clothes with certain genders, but it’s ninety degrees, and I do have certain appendages that don’t really cooperate well with heat.” 

Dumbledore gave an apologetic shrug, twinkled his goddamn eyes, and rushed off to the front counter, where a customer was arguing with Hermione about the amount of onion rings she received in her order. 

Harry’s shoulders slumped. It could’ve been worse- he could’ve been the poor sod who had to dress up as Ronald McDonald across the street. Honestly, playing Wendy wasn’t that bad. Sure, he had to now don a red wig, fake freckles, and a blue dress, but at least he wasn’t Tom Riddle. 

He looked out the window to the McDonald’s, and, yes, that was indeed Riddle with his white face paint, red nose, and clown shoes. It was quite terrifying, especially as Tom didn’t bother with cheerfulness until his boss, Slughorn, bothered to check on him outside, so he would just watch the cars with a blank stare. When there would be a lull between customers, Harry entertained himself by looking across the street at Riddle, and his terrifying clown-ness.

Harry exhaled, disappointed. How one can sigh with disappointment was unclear, but Harry managed. He only got the job because of the relentlessness of the Dursley’s to keep himself busy during the summer, and Ron’s insistence that one last hurrah before starting university in the form of a group trip would be fun. Of course, funds would be needed. But at what cost? 

With one last withering glance at Dumbledore, Harry trudged along to the bathroom to get dressed in the dress and wig. Why Lavender Brown, the new trainee, couldn’t become Wendy, Harry didn’t know. He undressed, and began to pull the dress over his thighs through the neck hole, but it stopped and wouldn’t budge. 

_‘Great,’_ Harry thought, ‘ _my thighs are too thick for dresses.’_

He sighed again, pushed down the dress, and began to yank it over his head. He adjusted the wig, making sure that the braids were correctly placed, dotted his face with freckles (why, Albus, should Harry decorate his face with freckles when they would be unseen from cars?), and pushed open the Employees Only door. 

Only to be faced with a loud guffaw from Draco Malfoy. 

Malfoy sauntered up to the counter, with the confidence only the son of the CEO of the UK branch of Wendy’s could possess, said, “Red hair? Hand me down clothes?”

“You must be _Wendy_.”


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wendy’s should pay me for this advertising goddammit- i’m hyping them up too much for FREE

Harry plastered on the bright, false smile of a person deserving much more than minimum wage, and replied, “Orders must be placed at the counter, sir! Do you need some help finding it?” 

Malfoy sneered and rolled his eyes. “Potter. You better get outside, my father isn’t paying you to stay indoors,” he smirked, “Make sure to wave and smile! Don’t forget your sign!” 

Harry gave a thumbs up, and as Malfoy walked past him, switched to two fingers. Hermione caught him. 

“Harry, I know this isn’t ideal, but you really do need to go outside. Riddle has started handing out ketchup packets to people walking by and somehow, _it’s attracting customers_ ,” she grimaced. 

Harry hung his head with discouraged resignation. “Okay, I’m going, I’m going.” He gave her visor a flick and walked to the soda fountain. 

He filled a large beverage cup with ice, hoping it could be passed off as a prop, and gave one last wave to the other employees. Harry picked up the company licensed sign ( _$1 Large Fry!)_ , braced himself for the blast of hot air, and was sorely disappointed to find that it was somehow muggier than anticipated. 

Even worse, Riddle was already staring at Harry. His white face paint was menacingly wrinkling his face, not quite dripping but definitely sweating in the heat. The red afro was wilting in the sun (which Harry did not know was a possible characteristic of a wig), and the sleeves of his clown suit were rolled up to his elbows. And, yes, he was holding a Happy Meal box filled to the top with ketchup packets. Harry was baffled on how hot packets of ketchup would _entice_ patrons, but he suspected fear was a large factor. 

Harry took in this horrifying image, and waved. 

Riddle continued to stare at Harry, making no gesture of acknowledgement of the wave, which was honestly quite rude, considering they were both in similar situations, and having an ally would be really helpful. 

As this gesture of goodwill was ignored, Harry propped up a box to stand on and began wiggling his sign. A few cars beeped. All was well. 

Until he heard Riddle, and oh god, Harry thought those honks from the last few weeks had been the calls of local alley ducks, perhaps geese, but no. Oh, no. 

Riddle had a clown horn, and he pressed the red ball once, and let the noise ring out ominously, until pressing again minutes later. He did this while maintaining his gaze in Harry’s direction. 

Was this how Riddle actually interacted with people? It wasn’t even like they were strangers, and he could be creepy with the knowledge that he would never see Harry again. They had both started at their jobs around the same time a month ago, and passed by each other frequently at the bus stop. Harry wouldn’t go as far as to say they were friends, especially since Tom would just swipe his bus card and then stare moodily out the window like he was in a music video, only occasionally grunting in acknowledgement to Harry. Harry wondered if perhaps he was that unrecognizable in his Wendy ensemble. 

“Tom! Riddle! You know it’s me, right? Harry Potter?” Harry called out to Tom across the street. 

Riddle honked. 

“Can you hear me?” 

Honk. 

Harry paused, and continued wiggling his sign while Riddle stared at him some more. 

_‘Three more weeks’_ played like a mantra inside Harry’s head. 

Three more weeks until the trip.

Three more weeks until he could quit the worst job he’s ever had, beating his jobs of cat sitting for Mrs Figg, mowing the lawns of the monotonous suburbia of Little Whinging, and assisting at Sirius’s Taekwondo studio, all rolled into one and multiplied by a thousand. 

Three more weeks until he would never have to ask, _“do you want fries with that?”_ in his most enthusiastic tone, while his eyes betrayed how dead he truly was inside. They almost always wanted fries with _‘that,’_ whether _‘that’_ was a Frosty or a Baconator, or even an order of fries. 

Some patrons of Wendy’s wanted an order of fries with their fries, and every time it happened, Harry battled between a sense of deep horror, and pride. 

A honk louder than any of the others pulled Harry from his inner chanting. He focused his gaze on Riddle. 

“Yes, Riddle?” Harry asked, beginning to do a bit of a thrusting motion with the sign. 

Riddle looked to both sides, then called out, “Potter!” 

Harry exhaled a few times. “Yeah, I heard you, I’m the one that acknowledged you first. What’s up?”

With an exaggerated (well, maybe not exaggerated for Riddle, that could just be how he functioned) straightening of his posture and a raised chin, he shouted, “Potter! No one wants your square shaped patties!” 

Harry blinked. “...you’re so fucking weird. You know you look like one of those forest clowns, right? Remember the creepy forest clowns?” 

“That was five years ago, Harry, and how could you say that to an international icon? I _am_ Ronald McDonald,” Riddle said, and tossed a ketchup packet onto the windshield of a passing car, that luckily, was going slow enough that it just slid off, leaving a splatter of red. 

“What the _fuck_?” 

“...I think I may have heatstroke,” Riddle said, and promptly fainted, his horn releasing a sad honk and his clown nose bouncing off. 

Harry was speechless, and debated whether he should get help or continue thrusting his sign. With a sigh, he crossed the street and dumped half of his melting ice directly onto Riddle, and began gently hitting him. 

Harry also decided to take off Riddle’s clown wig, and unbuttoned the top half of the suit, which was actually fastened with buttons, not a zipper, because apparently McDonald’s only had authentic clown apparel.

A few people who had been eating inside of the McDonald’s came outside to see what the commotion was, including Slughorn. 

He looked quite guilty, almost like how a manager would look if they put an employee in danger by having them dress in a full clown suit in the middle of summer, and stand outside in the heat for hours at a time, several days a week. He looked almost like said employee could _file a negligence lawsuit against the company._

And with that thought racing through his head, Harry poured the rest of the icy water on Riddle, watched as his eyes fluttered open, leaned in, and whispered, “We’re going to get fucking _rich_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a turn none of us were expecting (especially me, okay?)
> 
> please tell me other people remember the forest clowns and i didn't just hallucinate, like, half of 2016


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o o p s i e s 
> 
> there's four chapters now ;) we hope and we pray that there is only one more chapter of this monstrosity

Riddle looked at Harry with his classic deadpan. Harry had kicked Slughorn out of his office, claiming he needed to _‘consult with his best friend, Tom; Mr Slughorn, he feels quite feverish, still.’_ Now dry and in air conditioning, it seemed that Riddle’s erratic behavior outside was due to the heatstroke, which quite relieved Harry (just to know that flying ketchup packets wouldn’t be a concern to worry about on the bus, of course). It really was unfortunate that Riddle was such a bastard, because without horrifying clown makeup and a red afro, he was fit. Harry had noticed on the bus, but it just hit different at golden hour, with the sun filtering in through the office window. Like, _wow_. 

Riddle’s hair was still slightly wet from the water, and while Harry’s hair would have begun to frizz and puff up from the humidity, he looked like a supermodel. He was back to wearing what Harry liked to call his _‘twunk’_ apparel, and his light sunburn only served to make him look more adorable.

Harry coughed to clear his mind of such thoughts, then scowled. 

He could do without the scathing sneers Riddle was sending him. 

Especially since _Harry_ was the one to come up with the foolproof plan he called, ‘Riddle is Indeed An Asshole, But He Was Fucked Over By His Manager, So Let’s Bankrupt McDonald’s,’ with the optional subheader of ‘Fuck Capitalism and Eat the Rich,’ that would guarantee Harry, and Riddle, he supposed, at least, like, £50,000. 

Riddle said it was _‘the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, dumbass,’_ but Harry had said that Riddle was ‘ _clearly still under the effects of the heatstroke and your mental state is obviously altered’_. He almost wished it was he who had passed out, so Riddle wouldn’t need to be part of the plan at all, but he did actually like Dumbledore and didn’t want to get him in any unnecessary trouble, so it was better this way anyhow. 

“Listen, Riddle, you needed to be the clown for a reason, right?” Harry asked, putting on his best, _‘of course, let me get my manager, right away, ma’am’_ voice. 

Riddle grunted.

Harry continued. “Right. Now, don’t you think that, instead of continuing to work at this physical embodiment of the word grease, you could make a bunch of money from a company that already has billions of dollars built off of the backs of hardworking, underpaid employees, that you’re frankly entitled to?” 

Riddle seemed to actually pause and think about it, and said, “If I did end up suing McDonald’s, which I am inclined to not do, why the hell would you ever get a cut, idiot?” but Harry could tell he was intrigued. It _was_ a good plan, after all. 

Harry beamed. “Because I saved you, of course! And I’m a witness of your fainting episode!”

Riddle’s lip curled in disgust and he grunted yet again, and crossed his arms in an attempt to maintain his cool exterior of angst. Harry could see through this mask, however, and how the temptation of money was beginning to entice Riddle. 

“Alright, I’ll let you think about it. Don’t wait too long, though, because Slughorn _will_ try and pay you off, and I think you’re desperate enough to take it,” Harry said, and gave Tom a pat on his slightly drier head.

With a spring in his step and a renewed sense of accomplishment, Harry left the territory of the enemy, picked up his sign, and began twirling. 

-

Tom hated almost everything. 

He hated his supervisor, he hated his coworkers, he hated his uncle, he hated his job, and he hated having to take the bus every day because he would have to see _him_.

Because it was hard to hate Potter. 

Tom had first met him at the bus stop, because Morfin refused to pay for the gas it would take to drive Tom pretty much anywhere. Tom had sent out job applications to a few places, but only received word back from McDonald’s. He had been desperate for money. Really, _really_ desperate for money. He was slated to be starting university at Hogwarts in the fall, with a pretty good scholarship offer, but he still needed almost four thousand pounds. If he knew one thing, it was that he was not going to become debt’s bitch. 

So. Potter. 

Potter was quite short, had the hair of a bedraggled dumpster cat, and he made Tom’s heart feel like it was being stabbed by millions of tiny knives called _‘emotion.’_

He did not know what to do about this feeling, and thus tried to brush aside any sentiments he harbored for Harry Potter. But, when he tried to focus on ignoring him, he instead saw his messy head of hair in the reflection of the bus window. 

He saw his pair of tennis shoes that had seen much better days, ratty jeans and oversized tee shirts, and in that, he saw _familiarity_. 

He saw his bright smile and occasionally heard a loud, _“good morning, McNugget!"_ that made him both cringe and, deep down, feel something that was scarily close to affection. 

So, Tom had to do something about that. 

Tom knew that he was attractive, but more importantly, he knew he was attractive to Potter. He had caught glimpses of Potter’s eyes tracking him as they diverged to their respective fast food establishments. That meant Potter was into him, right? Potter gave him nicknames (see: McNugget). Potter watched him in awe when he dressed up as Ronald McDonald, and in envy of those who received his ketchup. Potter fancied him, Tom knew, and he finally decided to make a move.

He was one for big gestures. He wouldn’t merely _ask_ Potter out. 

The child Malfoy, one of his informants, told him that the youngest ginger had quit, so the Wendy's needed a new Wendy, and, as the newest employee, Harry would become her.

It was the perfect time. 

Tom began restricting his water intake.

Some would say that’s dangerous, but Tom said it was _dedication_.

What Tom, future freshman of the esteemed Hogwarts University, valedictorian, forgot, however, is that you don’t get mouth-to-mouth when you faint from dehydration or heat stroke.

So, he regained consciousness to freezing water up his nose, a crowd of, ew, _people,_ surrounding him, and the whispered mumblings of Harry Potter in a wig and a dress (that honestly, was kind of working), saying, “...fucking _rich_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psa: if you have heat stroke, please seek medical attention, and do not be tom. do not intentionally dehydrate yourself in attempts to get your crush to kiss you. tom is creepy and he is not a role model. never listen to tom. never do anything tom does. 
> 
> also i can't stop with the italics omfg sorry guys


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter count is meaningless now. i get to writing, i say, 'this will be the last chapter,' and then it just keeps going. maybe that's okay, though, bc you guys seem to dig it?

He listened to Harry’s plan, and considered it. It wasn’t awful. 

Tom needed money. He’s needed money since he could remember, and he had a very good memory. The thing that sold him on Harry’s plan, however, wasn’t the superfluous amount of money. It was knowing that he would be spending upwards of several years with Potter as the lawsuit continued. Also, he wanted to get Slughorn fired. Like, really badly. It was supremely annoying to have to listen to him talk about how Jared from Subway was one of his _‘good friends, Tom, and_ you _could be the next Jared!’_

No, Slughorn, Tom was positive he did not want to be the next Jared from Subway, but the McDonald’s version. 

Though, how could he prove that it was the fault of the company and Slughorn’s negligence that caused him to faint? He would never admit that he purposefully dehydrated himself in order to get snogged by Potter. 

Tom wondered when his life had gone so wrong. 

-

It was almost too bad that he would be able to quit soon, as Harry was spinning his sign really well. No one could read it, since it was twirling too quickly, but the passion that Harry obviously held for his role as Wendy was clear. 

No, that wasn’t true. Harry fucking hated being Wendy, and he had already devised a plan to steal the sign after his shift and burn it, hopefully to the background of him and Riddle making out. 

His freckles were smearing down his face with sweat. The braids on his wig were drooping. Things were happening under his dress that he didn’t even know were possible. 

Harry wasn’t dumb. He knew that even if Riddle did agree to pursue a lawsuit against McDonald’s, it would take a few years, and they would likely settle, or it wouldn’t even go to court. But, at the very least, he would get to spend some time with Riddle. 

Harry paused in his sign twirling, because Riddle probably should have received legitimate medical attention, and not just cold water and a few slaps. 

Harry shrugged and continued twirling. Sounded like a Riddle Problem.

He stopped again. ‘ _But, if he dies, I can’t kiss him passive aggressively. Damn.’_

So, Harry picked up his box, walked into Wendy’s, and the blast of air conditioning nearly sent him into another dimension. 

Over the hubbub that was Wendy’s at six PM, Harry caught the tail end of Hermione’s bickering with Malfoy, whom it seemed had taken on a bit of an inspector's role, which was _very_ exciting and fun. 

“My father changed the 1-ply Kraft Brown disposable napkins for the 2-ply bleached white napkins weeks ago, Granger, so why are these still here?” Malfoy demanded, aggressively pointing to the napkin dispenser on the condiment table. 

Hermione just looked bored. “We still have plenty of stock of the brown napkins, so we are using them up before switching to the white ones. Should we just throw them out and waste the supply, or continue to use these and then switch to the white ones?” 

Malfoy raised his chin. “I’ll have to tell my father about this, you won’t be getting away with anything!” He picked up one ketchup packet and one mustard packet, and appeared to be weighing them in each hand. 

Harry wondered whether he should watch this play out, or interrupt them, when the choice was taken away by Luna exclaiming happily, “Harry! You look dreadful!”

Everyone in the Wendy’s paused to look at the man wearing Annabelle cosplay. 

“Nope! It’s me, Wendy! Your favorite mascot to the most delicious old-fashioned hamburg- okay, never mind, Hermione, I need to talk to you.” 

Harry walked over to Malfoy and Hermione, slipped one of the mayonnaise packets in the pocket of Malfoy’s button up, and gestured for Hermione to follow him to the Employee’s Only restroom. 

With a soft click of the lock, and Malfoy’s scandalized exclamations ( _“My FATHER will hear about this, Potter!”)_ Harry turned to Hermione with a somewhat guilty expression. 

“What did you do, Harry?” Hermione wet a paper towel and pressed it to Harry’s face, where it just became pulpy and made the makeup run even more. “Oh, that didn’t work.” She just started to wipe off the makeup harshly with the napkin.

“Do you think it’s possible to sue for negligence if an employee passes out while on the job because the employer didn’t provide proper accommodations?” Harry spoke quickly with the tone of someone who knew they were wrong, and began removing the paper towel and the bits that stuck to his forehead. Hermione just looked at him.

“Riddle, I mean, not me. He fainted in his clown suit. Because, you know, heat. Sun, wig, that sort of thing,” Harry continued. He took off his wig and tried pulling the dress off over his head, but his arms got stuck and he looked like a supreme idiot with his arms straight up, black hair sticking up out of the neckhole, and his boxers soaked in sweat.

Hermione sounded pissed, but since he couldn’t see, maybe he was just imagining things. “Harry, you cannot sue McDonald’s.” 

“But why noooot?” Harry whined. He flapped his arms uselessly until she took pity on him and helped yank it off. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Did you ever bother to ask Riddle if Slughorn wasn’t providing proper accommodations? He’s a lot of things, but I don’t think he would knowingly put an employee in danger.” 

Harry paused. Well, no, he didn’t, but Slughorn looked super guilty. “Slughorn looked really guilty, though, like he did something wrong!” He put on his tee shirt and jeans, and looking in the mirror; he looked much more disheveled than he ever had before.

“He could've just felt bad for Riddle, Harry! Any boss would feel bad if an employee got injured on the job!” Hermione opened the bathroom door, to see Malfoy leaning against it with his ear pressed to the wood. 

“What the fuck are you doing listening, weirdo?” Harry asked, and observed how Malfoy was doing a poor job of trying not to look suspicious. 

“How dare you! Potter! Calling me a weirdo! How preposterous! Well!” After Harry had just continued to look at Malfoy, he continued brokenly, “I suddenly crave a BigMac, so I will be going now! My father _will_ hear about this!” Malfoy sprinted to the exit, and through the glass doors Harry could see him look before crossing the street, and running into McDonald’s. He may be the most pompous asshole Harry’s ever known, but oh, how he ran with the grace of a baby gazelle. 

Hermione was also watching. 

“That was strange, right? Even for him?” Harry asked. 

Hermione shrugged. “Not sure,” she paused, then turned to Luna, who was working the cashier position along with Lavender. “Add three more tallies to Malfoy’s Daddy Issues Board!” 

Luna beamed, and lifted up the white sign that said, _‘_ _Free Small Frosty-ccino with Purchase!’_ to reveal a whiteboard titled, ‘ _Draco Malfoy’s Daddy Issues.’_ The whiteboard was almost completely black, only with a small patch of white that Luna added three more lines too. There had to be over a hundred tally marks on the board, and it gained a tally every time Malfoy mentioned his father. Every employee could be seen adding at least one tally after a conversation with Malfoy, including Dumbledore. So, it was both a blessing and a curse (still, mostly a curse though) whenever Malfoy visited the Wendy’s location in Surrey. 

“What should I do, Herm?” Hermione looked disgusted at her nickname, but Harry kept talking, “I really, really want money, and I think I could kiss Riddle a lot if we did this lawsuit.” 

Hermione just looked baffled. “Harry, you’re going to university in a month anyway, on a full ride scholarship. You only have to work a few more weeks to have enough to pay for the trip. Also, you’re almost eighteen, don’t you think Sirius is going to literally throw money at you in apology for being out of your life for so long?” 

“I suppose.” Harry sighed. Woe is him. 

“Also, Riddle definitely wants to snog you, by the way. Malfoy’s creepy journal is just him writing down notes about you, and they’re all addressed ‘Dear Lord Voldemort’,” she said, and left to go back behind the counter like she hadn’t just _changed Harry’s fucking life._

Lord Voldemort, of course, was Riddle’s SoundCloud username. 

Harry had made the mistake of asking Riddle what he was always listening to on the bus one time and he turned to Harry, and curtly replied, “My raps, Potter, and you may be graced with listening to them under my rap name, Lord Voldemort, on SoundCloud.” He turned back and continued staring out the window. 

They were not good. Harry would go as far as to say they were awful. Riddle had no talent. Even worse, Harry knew he was going to university for _recording arts._ But, he was hot, and it was somewhat endearing how Riddle actually thought he, an extremely white British boy, should pursue a career in rapping.

"Hermione! Can you call an ambulance for Riddle?" Harry asked, and Hermione gave a thumbs-up and retreated to a secluded part of the restaurant. Harry sighed. He had better go over to McDonald's and tell Riddle that the lawsuit plan was off, and also bully him a bit, because how fucking psychotic is he to have one of his minions stalk Harry? Could there even be anything creepier?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, harry. your troubles are far from over. also, i realized i never provided context for how i came up with this idea. i saw fanart of a hot colonel sanders (aS yoU dO) and then my disaster brain thought, ‘okay, but ronald mcdonald?' and i found THIS (please tell me it worked or i will cry): http://www.financetwitter.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Wendy-and-Ronald-McDonald-Manga-Graphic.jpg 
> 
> bonus video of a baby gazelle running, with some lovely commentary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crof4r3jOZE
> 
> also, i have no idea how the soundcloud rapper thing came to be. :/ sorry


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter will actually be the last chapter! i mean it this time >:(

Where to go from here? 

For Tom, between hearing Malfoy beg for mercy and Slughorn frantically call corporate, he was done. 

Clearly, trying to woo Harry Potter was a lot of effort. Perhaps too much effort. 

“Malfoy,” Tom held up a hand and immediately, Draco ceased his inane chattering, “do get to the point.” 

“Potter suspects that Slughorn wasn’t remiss in offering you breaks or water.”

Tom sighed. “Damn.” He began to pack his clown accessories along with the wig and the suit in the corporate licensed clown bag. At the very least, it was a positive that he would likely go back to working the register. On the downside, he would have to interact with people again, and he couldn’t get away with just staring at them from a distance. 

“Shall we commence ‘Plan Drown the Clown’, my Lord?” 

“No, we better not. Did Potter say anything else?” Tom made sure he had packed everything, then gestured for Malfoy to follow him. 

Malfoy consulted his ‘Tomarry is my OTP <3’ journal. “No, my Lord. That’s everything. Will you require anything else?” 

Before Tom could reply, the faint sound of ambulance sirens grew louder, until he could see the red flashing light of the van from behind the frosted doors of the entrance. 

He looked over the golden arch of the ‘M’ logo on the door, to see Potter consulting with one of the paramedics, miming an old woman collapsing, then pointing to the McDonald’s. Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

He pushed open the doors and Harry jabbed a finger at Tom’s direction. “It’s him! The depressed, tall boy!” 

Tom turned around. Wait, Malfoy  _ was  _ looking depressed lately. Tom could allow him his own verse on his next rap, perhaps. He would have to work on sounding more enthusiastic, but certainly, the chance to be featured on one of Lord Volemort’s raps would cheer anyone up. Tall, however? If anyone was tall, it was Tom. Malfoy was of average height.

“Malfoy!” Tom called, causing Draco to look around wildly, and point at himself. Tom nodded. “Tell Barty to meet in the studio tomorrow, we have a new track to record!” 

Poor Malfoy, he looked nervous. He must have been so excited that he was scared to mess up. “Yes, of course, My Lord.” 

Tom looked back to the paramedics and Harry. “So, what seems to be the problem?” 

Harry stared blankly, while the paramedics just looked baffled. 

“Tom, remember how you passed out earlier? These nice people are just going to make sure you’re alright,” Harry spoke like he was trying to calm a wary horse, which did  _ not  _ make sense because Tom was fine! 

Tom called back, “Me? I’m fine!” 

“Tom, you’re clearly  _ not _ fine if you think you should record  _ even more  _ raps.” 

One of the paramedics, the one with pink hair, spoke up, “Sir, if you seriously have heatstroke, you have to go to the hospital. Heatstroke isn’t something you can just recover from at home.” She gestured to the stretcher. “Why don’t you just come with us, and you can probably go home tomorrow, depending on the seriousness of your condition.” 

“My Lord, tell them about Operation Dehydration!” Malfoy called out, and Tom vowed then to make his life a living hell. 

But what was the best way to get revenge? First, that solo on his next rap? Gone. Barty would be overjoyed to have a featured verse. Next, his father. Tom could try and seduce him, but unfortunately, Lucius was married and seemed to be heterosexual. 

Yet, before he could complete his plans of making Malfoy rue the day he tried to cross him, Potter smiled rather manically. “Tom, please tell us about Operation Dehydration.” 

Tom swallowed. “Ah, no thank you!” 

Potter walked up to him and flicked his forehead. “Dumbass, tell me that Operation Dehydration isn’t you deliberately dehydrating yourself.” 

Tom scowled. “Okay, then I won’t.” 

Potter screamed, “You sociopath! Why the  _ fuck _ would you purposefully dehydrate yourself? God, I thought we were going to become a corporate fighting power couple,” Harry continued talking, but was now flailing his arms in the air, while the paramedics began wheeling the stretcher and the IV back into the ambulance, “and take down the bourgeoisie, but noooo, you had to be crazy, didn’t you?” 

“Am I crazy for trying to  _ woo _ you?” 

“Yes, you freak! You don’t  _ woo _ people by fainting in a clown suit!” 

The pink haired paramedic handed Tom a bottle of water and said, “Call 999 if you experience any symptoms of heatstroke, and for God’s sake, don’t be an idiot again.” 

Tom nodded.

“How can you be so smart but so dumb at the same time? Legitimately, how? You’re in fucking  _ Mensa _ , Tom. You have an IQ of like, 160, you put it on your Tumblr!” Harry shouted, and Tom just stared at the ground while being berated. 

Potter thought he was smart! Of course, he knew he was, but hearing it come from Potter was very nice, he had to admit. 

And Tom knew, with sudden clarity, that there could never be too much for Harry. No line Tom wouldn’t cross. Harry was Tom’s past, present, and future. 

Tom walked the few remaining feet it took to reach Harry, causing him to pause, and Tom kissed him. 

In a heartbeat, the kiss was unreciprocated, and in the next, it was. 

They pulled apart after a few seconds. 

“You’re still, like, the ultimate dumbass,” Harry said, and grabbed the water bottle still clutched in Tom’s sweaty hand. He opened it, and pushed it back into Tom’s hands. “Drink that.” 

Tom drank it. 

Harry spoke again. “Tom, listen. You’re a creep, like, really a creep. No sane person would ever do what you’ve done.” 

He opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it and nodded. 

Harry sighed. “You are hot though, and for some reason, I want to date you.” 

Tom smiled, kissed Harry again, and said solemnly, “My next rap will be an ode to you.” 

For some reason, Harry’s own grin became a bit strained, but he still replied, “Thank you, Tom. That sounds great.”

From behind Tom, Malfoy (who would perhaps receive a lighter sentence for his defiance) called out, "Should I tell Slughorn that everything's fine? Or should we blackmail him?" 

"Tell him that his Ronald McDonald is a dumbass but he's fine!" Harry responded, which caused Malfoy to frown, but he didn't say anything else. 

Tom looked back at Malfoy and agreed, "Yes, go tell Slughorn that all is well." 

With that, Tom and Harry walked to and sat at the bus stop bench. Harry leaned his head against Tom's shoulder, and they waited for their bus to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that ended a lot sweeter than expected, damn
> 
> also, kinda gave harry angry power bottom energy but it fits


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it! 
> 
> thank you a billion for all the kudos and comments (especially those of you who did it several times dksjhdfak i appreciate and adore you so much you don’t even KNOW)

Two weeks later, it was Harry’s eighteenth birthday.

Dating Tom was like dating an old man and a child at the same time. 

He was so serious and angsty, but he could also be just so stupid. He was driving Harry mad, but Harry also felt happier than he had in a long, long time. 

Harry had been forced to sit through three Death Eater meetings, which were just Tom, Barty, and Malfoy trying to think of words that rhyme for their raps, or imitating snakes hissing to be the rhythm for one of their tracks. 

But Tom would always look to Harry with such a face of accomplishment, such childlike wonder, that Harry would have to gas him up.

_‘Wow, Tom, that sounds great! I love how you had Malfoy pleading for mercy in the background, what a great touch.’_

Unfortunately for Harry, however, Tom had begun to understand when to ask Harry for his opinion, and when to just do something. 

-

“Oh my god, what the fuck is Tom doing now?” Harry asked himself from within the safety of Wendy’s, watching Tom rap in the middle of the street, in the _rain_ , while wearing the Ronald McDonald clown suit. Malfoy was filming on a goddamn _camcorder_ and Barty was providing a beat that could not possibly have been heard over the sound of the heavy thunder.

Tom had actually been fired, mostly at the urgence of an HR representative of McDonald’s UK, which made everyone who had ever had to pass by Tom’s old McDonald’s location very relieved. 

There was no logical reason why Tom would be wearing it again. There was no explanation how Tom had even _gotten_ the clown suit, which Harry knew to be authentic because of its distinct lack of a zipper. 

Lavender made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, watching the same monstrosity as Harry. “Him, Harry? You just had to fall for him?” She sounded like she was pitying Harry and his dick for finding Tom Riddle attractive. 

Harry sighed dejectedly. “Yeah, I did.” 

He opened the door that was thankfully under an awning, and he could hear Tom screaming, definitely not rapping, he was _screaming_ , “A memory! I am but a memory, preserved in a diary for fifty years!” 

Harry raised a hand to cover his mouth in horror. Oh, god, it was so bad. There was no rhyme. It made no sense, even in an abstract way. 

“Always alone, in my chamber of secrets, forsaken by friends, living on borrowed time…” Tom continued, then proceeded to _LIE DOWN_ in the _MIDDLE OF THE STREET_ while it was _RAINING._

“Riddle! Get up! What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry shouted, and when Tom sat up, a wave of cold rainwater rushed down from his sodden wig all over his face. “Gross, Tom! _Ew_!” 

Tom scowled. “I needed rain for the music video, Harry! It’s like my tears, get it? And sadness!” Malfoy nodded fervently. 

“Why the clown suit, though? How did you even get that? If you spent your money on a clown suit- Tom, I swear to God,” Harry crossed his arms and stared at a spluttering Tom. 

He sprinted over to Harry, the pant legs of the outfit dragging behind him, clown shoes squeaking in the water. 

“I got the clown suit when I quit, so it was free!” Tom responded, and he actually looked like he _did_ something _._

“No.” Harry took a step backward. “Do not tell me that the clown suit was your, ‘hefty severance check,’ that you couldn’t show me because I would be, ‘too jealous’.”

Tom paused. “Okay.” 

Harry waited for an explanation, but of course, none would come. 

“Alright! Have fun! I have to go! Good luck!” Harry gave a wave to Tom and his friends, reentered Wendy’s, and thumped his head against the now closed door, giving up on all reason. 

Tom was speaking from outside, “Malfoy asked to borrow it!” 

Malfoy squawked, and Harry groaned. 

“That’s the only reason why you haven’t seen it!” he continued, “It represents my unfulfilled childhood dreams, don’t worry about it!” Tom tapped the glass door, and Harry raised his head. Again, he had that goddamn look of triumph, so Harry just had to give a thumbs-up. 

The weird thing was, people actually _liked_ Tom’s raps. 

They thought they were jokes (which Harry knew all too well, they were _not_ ) and adored them. Barty had figured out how to put them up on YouTube, where they gained traction, and since Tom barely knew how to turn on his phone, he couldn’t access the comments that praised him for his _‘hilarious take on white boy rappers.’_

People thought _Tom was making a statement on the political climate of rapping._

Harry thought that was hilarious, so he didn’t say anything. He just gave a like to every video and song, and congratulated Tom on his (however misguided) success. 

Of course, Tom didn't know that he could actually make money off of his raps ( _‘they’re just my_ passion, _Harry, I would make them with or without the money!’)_ , so Barty had to be the one to show him how to turn on adsense. 

Tom began making a couple thousand dollars per video.

Harry was disappointed in society, but he couldn’t help but feel proud of his boyfriend. 

-

It’s also important to note that on Harry’s eighteenth birthday, Sirius met Tom.

Sirius was Harry’s godfather, but because of a vendetta his psychotic Mafia family had against him, they framed him for a crime he didn’t commit, and he was put into jail for twelve years, right after the deaths of Harry’s parents, leaving Harry to live with his universally hated aunt and uncle. 

Sirius felt very guilty about that. 

Ever since new evidence came to light when Harry was thirteen that Sirius was actually innocent, Sirius had been fighting the courts for custody of Harry. But, he was deemed unfit because of the years he spent in prison, and Harry continued to live with the Dursely’s. However, they continued to build a relationship, and Harry considered Sirius to be like an uncle, maybe even a father. 

Thus, when Harry introduced Tom as his boyfriend, Sirius activated Parental Dad Mode™. 

“So! You must be the strapping young man that stole my godson’s heart!” Sirius slapped Tom on the back, causing him to spit out the fry he was eating. Tom continued to choke for a few seconds, then held out his hand to shake Sirius’s.

“Yes, sir. Harry is my ultimate muse for all of my rap tracks,” Tom said, then _bowed_ like the loser he was. 

Sirius’s eyes widened, and he turned to Harry with a wide grin. “Rap! Tom raps! You did not mention that Tom raps!” 

Harry resisted the urge to flee, and instead plastered on his own smile. “Tom raps. He is very enthusiastic about it.” 

“You can find me on all your streaming platforms under the username LordVoldemort,” Tom added, always marketing. He frequently told Harry that there could never be a bad time to self-promote, and as much as Harry disagreed, he had to appreciate the hustle. 

Sirius gave Tom a pat on the head, which caused him to scowl. 

“Tom, you are a good match for Harry. Though, he hasn’t told me how you two met?” Sirius asked, and this time, Harry did run away to converse with some of the other people at his birthday party. He could hear Tom say, _‘I was the Ronald McDonald to his Wendy…’_ and he cringed. 

Ron and Hermione had arrived, with Neville and Luna trailing after them. 

After greetings and birthday wishes, Ron questioned, “Sirius met Tom?” He was looking above Harry’s head to see Tom miming honking a horn. 

Harry smiled, a real one this time. “Yeah, and everything seems to be going pretty well.”

“You really do like him, huh?” Hermione asked. Sirius was now handing his phone to Tom, and Harry could hear the opening hisses to his newest song, _Chamber of Secrets,_ play on the speakers. Tom looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, and Harry felt a familiar brand of joy that was exclusive to Tom. 

Harry looked back at Hermione. “I really do.” 

From across the room, Sirius clapped his hands. “Present time, everyone! Gather ‘round!” 

Sirius started off the gift giving by bestowing a voucher for a free meal at Wendy’s ( _‘just a joke, Harry! Stop hitting me!)_ , but quickly followed it up with a prepaid Visa gift card with £1,000 on it. 

“Holy shit, Sirius.” Harry held the card up to the light, as if that would do anything. 

Sirius grinned. “Now you can finally quit Wendy’s!” He high fived a shocked Harry. 

Harry had been raised as an afterthought. 

Harry never had anything new; he had scraps and spare change that didn’t sustain, but were just enough. 

He cast his gaze away from a proud Sirius to Tom. Something must have shone on his face, because Tom’s became reassuring. An ‘ _it’s okay, you deserve nice things,’_ expression. Harry gave a slight nod, and thanked Sirius. 

The rest of the gifts Harry received were typical: books from Hermione, football merchandise from Ron, a plant from Neville (that Harry had accepted with the knowledge it would be dead by next month), and a pair of homemade earrings from Luna.

Tom, though. 

It was almost too expected that Tom would write him a song, but what wasn’t expected was that it was actually quite good. It was _Chamber of Secrets_ , but an acoustic, slow version, and Harry would deny it for years to come, but there everyone at his party saw him wiping away a few tears.

“I wrote this version of _Chamber of Secrets_ after the rap version, Harry, since you loved that one so much,” Tom said, after he played through the whole thing. 

Harry responded by kissing him. 

-

Though he begged, Tom was not allowed on the ‘Great Road Trip Before University- No Tom Allowed.’ The second part was added after he and Harry began dating, which Tom found extremely unfair, but Harry silently agreed. Tom could act a bit pampered, and Harry knew he would have an awful time on the trip. Thanks to Sirius, and the slight bonus he received from dressing as Wendy over the last few weeks, Harry would be able to pay his share for the trip, and still have money left over, for university. 

University would begin only a few days after the mini vacation, so he and Tom wouldn’t have nearly enough time to spend together before they had to go to their respective schools. Hogwarts was several hours away from his school, one of the universities in the Ilvermorny system, so he and Tom planned to meet as often as they could, but that would still only be on long weekends, or holidays. 

Harry wasn’t worried. If he and Tom’s relationship could begin on opposite sides of a fast food war, it could last while they went to different schools. 

Harry lifted his head up from Tom’s shoulder as the bus shuddered to a stop. 

“Ready?” he asked Tom, and he nodded. 

They left the bus, hand in hand, and walked to Wendy’s. 

Harry gave Tom’s hand a squeeze, and they entered the restaurant. 

Dumbledore’s head popped up from above the kitchen. 

“Harry! Ready to get to work?” he asked, and held out the Wendy’s bag, containing what appeared in all of Harry’s nightmares (and one _very_ confusing dream he refused to tell Tom about) with an expectant grin.

Harry grinned. “Albus, my buddy, old sport, I quit.” 

Dumbledore looked from Harry to Tom to the bag of clothes containing the Wendy costume, and responded, “Are you sure?” 

Harry paused, then felt a squeeze from Tom’s hand. 

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to make tom’s dramatic speech from CoS into a bad song. imagine it being said like that one eminem meme (it’s fun for me just to grab a boob; plus mah penis got an attitude). this just turned into the journey of tom’s rise to stardom in the rap world and i apologize
> 
> i know their relationship was VERY rushed (who brings their partner to meet their parents after TWO WEEKS BWAHH) but let’s just chalk that up to ~true love~ and ~fanfiction magic~ 
> 
> anyway- i had a blast, keep an eye out for more fast food based tomarry from me in the future! i hope you had as much fun reading as i did writing!

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, not sure either. hoping for only like 3 parts, but who knows what will happen?


End file.
